The preacher
by Delwyn
Summary: AU Sequel to 'The Wall'. It's finally over. The devil is gone for good, every last splinter of him removed from Sam's mind. But the past won't just go away. In an attempt to help a friend, Sam and Dean find themselves facing their worst fears.
1. Intro

**I'm back! It's been way too long.**

**After finishing a childrens novel (in Dutch) that I am trying to get published, and a writer's block I just couldn't get rid of, I decided it was time to start a new Supernatural story. It has helped me get rid of a writer's block before, so why not try it again? This story is a sequel to 'The wall', a story I wrote after Swan Song. You should really read that to make sense of this story. I hope you like it!**

**The title is from 'The preacher' by Kansas.**

**Enjoy!**

_The preacher_

The elderly priest moved around the familiar little church, the large painting of the final judgment looming over him. It was a defining feature of his church, that painting. In bright colors and painful detail, it depicted the fate of the sinners unfit to be raised up to heaven. Skewered, deformed, tortured and thrown into the fiery depths of hell. Although it was stunning in its craftsmanship, the priest always found it a little unsettling, especially after he turned the lights of. In the gloom, the painting seemed to be moving. Deformed creatures crawling over the surface, doomed souls clawing at the feet of the archangel that threw them down. Though he knew it was a trick of the light, the priest always left the church with his eyes cast down to the floor, avoiding the gruesome sight. As he walked to the front of the church to turn the lights of, he stopped briefly beside one of the front pews. No more than three weeks ago, a young man had sat there, staring up at the painting. A lost soul. Hurt and alone.

Sam, that was his name. The priest couldn't help but wonder what happened to him. He had seemed so lost, so helpless, and still he was determined to leave. To deal with things himself. Alone.

A few days later, his brother had come looking for him. The priest had never been more relieved in his life. He had prayed every day for that poor boy. For his brother to find him.

The priest shook his head a little and walked on. He would probably never find out what happened to Sam. He could only hope and pray for the young man's soul.

He flicked the lights of and turned to the altar, making the sign of the cross with his eyes on the floor.

The church door slammed hard behind him. The priests turned around, his hart skipping a beat. A familiar shadow came running into the church, his eyes shining with panic.

"Jake! What's wrong? Why…."

"Something's after me! Father, you have to help me." Jake anxiously looked over his shoulder. "I don't know what it is, it was… it came…"

The priest raised his hands. "Calm down, Jake. "

Jake grabbed him by the shoulders. "No! We have to lock the doors! It's coming for me."

"What do you mean, something? Is it an animal?"

"I don't know! But it's coming fast. Where are your keys? We have to lock the doors now!"

The priest turned around towards his office and froze in his tracks. The painting was barely visible in the dark, but he could clearly see shadows moving across the surface. The monstrous archangel slowly raised his head and stared at the priest with blazing eyes. An icy chill swept through the small church. Dark smoke curled around the frame of the painting.

With a bang, de church doors flew open. Jake screamed in terror, but the priest could only stare at the gruesome sight before him. Then, the archangels' eyes flashed white and the priest knew no more.


	2. I'm tired of the devil

_**I'd almost forgotten how good it felt to see my inbox full after posting a chapter. Thank you all for reading!**_

_**As always, enjoy.**_

_The preacherman's climbing up above a timberline _

_Bible in his hand praying for a sign _

_Says "__**I'm tired of the devil**__ - I'm down on my knees!" _

_"I'll fight the battle for the belt of Hercules" _

Three weeks.  
Three weeks had passed since Dean had found his brother again. Broken, haunted by none other than Lucifer himself. But he was alive. And for Dean, that was all he needed to know.

Sam had changed. There was no denying that. He was tense. Paranoid. After being freed from the cage, he had thrown himself into hunting like a maniac. Killing any evil son of a bitch that happened to come his way. Hunting just to keep himself from falling into the devil's claws.

Dean leaned back on Bobby's less than comfortable sofa. Sam was having a hard time adjusting to not being alone. To not having the devil riding shotgun in his head. To not having to fear for his life and sanity every damn minute.

Heavy footsteps paced the living room. Dean sighed. "For the last time, sit down, have a beer and _relax."_

Sam gave him a sharp look that turned to an apology almost immediately. "I'm doing it again, am I?"

"Yes you are. Seriously man, you're being annoying."

"Sorry." The word was spoken softly. An apology for a lot more than pacing the room.

"Nothing to be sorry for, Sam." Dean pointed at the abandoned armchair. "Now sit, and tell me why you are walking around like you have ants in your pants."

For a second, Sam just stared at him with that dark, clouded expression that he had these days. Then he looked away and tentatively sat down on the edge of the chair, his whole body tense. "I can't relax," he said softly. "I mean, I can now, but I couldn't… when…"

"When the devil was still in the backseat," said Dean softly.

Sam nodded without looking up. "When I had to… let him loose, it felt like I had to keep myself from breathing, you know? I've had to fight him for so long, just to keep myself alive. It just feels wrong not to."

Dean looked at his brother. Sam didn't like talking about those four months. Four months, alone and helpless, with Satan whispering in his ear every second of every day.

Unexpectedly, Sam looked up. "You know, I can barely remember what happened in those four months? All the hunts, the people I met, they are just a blur. All I could think about was _him_."

"It's over now, Sammy," said Dean softly. "I know it's gonna take a while to sink in, but you don't have to worry about him anymore. It's just you in there."

"I know," whispered Sam. "But in my dreams it still seems real, you know?"

Dean nodded. He couldn't bring himself to speak.

Sam looked away again, his beer untouched on the table.

A soft cough by the door made both brother's jump. Bobby stood in the doorway, his eyes hidden in the shadow of his cap, a newspaper in his hand. Dean couldn't help but wonder how long he had been standing there.

"If you boys have a minute, I found something interesting."

Without waiting for an answer, he tossed the newspaper on the table. On the front-page was a picture of a very familiar little church. Before Dean had time to read the headline, Sam snatched up the paper. "I know this place. I was there, wasn't I?" He closed his eyes, straining to remember.

Dean grabbed the paper from his hands. "If you'd let me take a look, maybe I…" His voice trailed off. He knew that church. The image was branded on his brain for the rest of his life. It was the place where he learned that he still had a brother. The elderly priest had taken care of Sam when he needed it the most. He had tried to give Sam some peace of mind, offered him a place to sleep. The man was practically a saint in Dean's book. The headline was clear enough.

"Man brutally murdered in church."

"Dean? What is it?" Sam snatched the paper back from him and stared at the photograph again, trying to see what his brother had seen.

Dean cleared his throat. "You were there, Sam. Just three weeks ago, do you remember?"

Sam closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead with one hand. "I… I think so. I… The priest, he helped me."

He opened his eyes again and looked at the paper, reading the article so fast it made Dean a little nauseous just looking at it.

"We found you because of him," said Bobby. "The guy remembered you. I went around town trying to find out who the hell cleaned out that vamps' nest before I even got there. He described you to the last detail. First time I realised you weren't quite as dead as I thought you were."

Silence fell in the room. Sam stared at the photo of the little church. The memories were so vague. A friendly face, a friendly voice drowning out the racket in his head for a while. Vague thoughts of blood and pain and dizziness. Almost everything about the past few months was vague. He had moved on auto-pilot, going through the motions. Hunting just to vent his fury and to finally do something good in the world.

And _him_. Whispering, clawing through the wall that held him in place.

Sam shivered, suddenly unable to shake the feeling that he was missing something. He looked back at the photograph. The church looked like so many others. He had seen hundreds of them in his life as a hunter. But there was something. Something he wasn't seeing. Or that he was seeing without realising it. He closed his eyes, thinking back to that day. A vampire hunt, Bobby had said. Fangs, blood, the feeling of his machete slicing through flesh. Or maybe that wasn't a memory. Maybe it was just his imagination. Fangs digging into his arm. Blood, pain. Trying to sew the skin together without shaking too much.

Driving. The road sliding in and out of focus. Lights too bright.

Church bells.

Church.

Sanctuary.

Thoughts and words jumbled through his mind. Impressions, feelings, memories.

And _him. _He was always there.

Sam shook his head to drive the gruesome image away. That memory still made him flinch when he looked into the mirror. The devil always wore Sam's face. Always.

_Two parts of one whole…_  
"Sam!"

Sam looked up and blinked. Dean was kneeling on the floor in front of him, a hand on his arm. Bobby was standing beside him, looking a little nervous.

"You with me, Sam?" said Dean softly. "You checked out on me, dude."

"I was just… trying to remember."

"Well, try a little less hard next time. Your brain might explode."

Despite the casual words, Dean looked worried.

Sam rubbed his forehead again. "There is something about that church. I know it, but I can't remember. I saw it when I was there, but… there was…it's…" he made a hopeless gesture with his hands. There were no words to say what he wanted to say, because nobody had ever had the need to make them up. It was frustrating as hell.

Bobby cleared his throat. "The priest told me that you were practically a dead man walking when you came to his church. It's no wonder that you don't remember everything."

"But I should," Sam whispered. "There was something there. Something I should remember."

"Well, maybe we're gonna find out," said Bobby. He pointed at the newspaper. "That looks like a hunt to me."

Dean stoop up and grabbed the paper from the table. "How did the guy die?"

"Here's where the fun begins. Apparently, he died from severe internal bleeding, but there wasn't a mark on him. Like had been crushed from the inside out."

"Nice," muttered Dean.

"The priest saw it all, apparently. Bit according to this he was 'too traumatized to testify'."

"Or he saw something nobody will believe," muttered Dean

Sam stood up from his chair. "We should go there," he said tensely.

Dean caught him by the arm. "Are you sure?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. " Why the hell not? You heard Bobby. It's…"

Dean looked down at the newspaper. "What if there are things you don't want to remember?"

Sam stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"Let's face it, Sam. The last few months haven't exactly been a picnic for you. Maybe we should just stay the hell away from this. Bury all that crap where it belongs. Start with a clean slate."

Sam shook his head. "No, Dean. That priest helped me. I remember him, he… If there is something going on in his church, we have to help him."  
Dean shook his head. "I don't know, Sam. Maybe Bobby can find someone else to deal with this. Maybe…"

"I wanna do this, Dean," said Sam earnestly. "I have to."

Dean gave him a long look. "Fine," he said finally. "I owe the padre a favour myself. But we stick together on this, got it?"

Sam nodded silently. This is what he had missed all those months. Someone looking out for him. A voice he could trust. A voice that wasn't trying to tear him down, piece by piece.

And somehow he knew he would need it on this hunt.

**I'm nor promising regular updates on this, real life is being a bitch at the moment. **


	3. Sanctuary

**This chapter has given me a headache, but I do like the way it turned out. I'll have the next one up on sunday, I hope. **

**Lyrics are from the song 'Under the knife' by Kansas.**

**Enjoy**

_I'll walk through your firestorm but never crawl_

_The gambler lives the blood stain dries_

_It's time to forgive I open my eyes_

_**Sanctuary**_

The little church was exactly as Dean remembered it. Like not a day had passed since the last time he had been here. The small square was empty and peaceful in the sun. Large trees flanked the entrance to the sanctuary. It was hard to believe someone had died there no more than two days ago.

Sam stared at the church with a vacant expression in his eyes. "I know I've been here," he said slowly. "It feels like a dream."

Dean looked at his brother from the corner of his eye. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes," said Sam without any hesitation in his voice. "There is something here that I've missed."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"I don't really know." Sam stared at the little church. "I was so out of it. I could barely focus most of the time. I just feel like there is something here that I should have seen, but I didn't."

"And you were hunting like that?" Dean couldn't help the anger sneaking into his voice. "You know better than that, Sam."

Sam flinched a little at his words. He looked down at the ground. "I know," he whispered. "But it was the only thing I could do. If I could just keep going, he…." His voice trailed off.

"Still. You were vulnerable, Sam. You just don't go hunting when you're not firing on all cylinders."

Sam was still looking at the ground. Dean shook his head in frustration. Trying to communicate with his brother was like yelling into a broken phone these days. Sam needed to see this. Needed to understand that it was wrong to take himself out of the equation like that. But between hell and having Lucifer riding shotgun in his head for four months, he just didn't seem to understand that it _mattered _what happened to him.

Before he could say anything else, Sam raised his head a little and looked up at the church again. "Let's just go," he said softly.

* * *

Sam knew what Dean was trying to say. He really did. But Dean couldn't understand what it had been like. And that was for the most part because Sam couldn't put it into words. Dean was more than willing to listen. More than willing to shoulder part of the burden. But there were no words Sam could think of to make him understand. No words to make sense of the jumble in his mind. His memory of the past four months was a heap of impressions. Sensations. Words.

It was hard to make sense of what was real and what wasn't. And still. Sometimes he had to remind himself that this was real. The here and now. Dean, Bobby. They were all real. He knew it, but a part of his mind just couldn't really believe it.

And sometimes, especially in those few minutes between being asleep and truly waking up, it was hard to believe that he himself was real. Real and intact and alive and not in hell. And he was Sam again. Just Sam.

He looked up at the little church. This was real. This was now. And he had something to do here.

Inside it was cool and silent. The only sign of the tragedy that had taken place there was the pile of flowers near the altar.

But there was something…

Sam frowned uncertainly. Something was out of place. Not quite as he remembered it, even though he wasn't sure what he really remembered. But before he could dwell on it, a door slammed in the back of the small sanctuary. Heavy footsteps echoed off the arched ceiling.

"I've had just about enough of this. Will you…"

The priest stopped in his tracks in the middle of the aisle. He stared at Sam with his mouth open. Sam looked away uncertainly, his eyes tracing the patterns of the tiles on the floor. Dean cleared his throat beside him. "Good to see you again, Padre."

"Thank the Lord," whispered the priest. Sam looked up and found to his surprise that the man was staring at him with genuine relief in his eyes.

"Never thought I would see you boys again." The priest smiled and started walking towards them. Sam recoiled on instinct. Every fiber in his body told him to turn around and leave. Run as far as he could. As it was, only Dean's reassuring hand on his arm stopped him from backing away.

He closed his eyes for a brief second. _Get a grip on yourself! You're being a moron._

Still, every nerve in his body was on high alert as the light footsteps came closer. When he opened his eyes again, the priest was standing beside him, smiling gently. "You really gave me a scare, son."

"I'm sorry," whispered Sam, almost by reflex. It was hard to tell sometimes what he was really being sorry for.

"There's no need to be sorry. You're safe now, that's all that matters."

Dean kept his hand lightly on his brother's arm. Sam looked like he was ready to bolt. Like he wanted to be anywhere but here.  
The priest looked up at Dean. "I'm glad you found him, son."

"So am I," replied Dean softly.

The priest smiled again. "I know you are." He gently put his hand on Sam's arm. "Come on, you boys look exhausted. I'll get you something to drink and you can fill in some of the missing pieces for me."

* * *

The small office was exactly as Dean remembered it. A desk, an old sofa and a small coffee table. Just the bare essentials. The priest made a vague gesture in the direction of the sofa. "Have a seat. Sorry for the rude reception, I've been chasing kids out of my church all day. They think it is cool to see a crime scene or something."

"Yeah, we heard about the murder," said Dean casually. "It's why we're here actually. We just wanted to make sure you were still in one piece."

The priest smiled. "That's really kind of you."

"It's the least we could do," Sam said quietly. "You helped me when not many people would have. I…"

The priest raised his hand. "I did what anyone would have done, Sam."

Sam shook his head, his eyes on the floor. "I was alone for a long time, Father. There weren't many people who helped me like you did."

"And I found him because of you," said Dean. "I owe you big time for that, Padre."

The priest smiled. "Well, I'm glad I could help. Not sure I deserve all the credit though." He sat down on the edge of the desk. "How many people would turn down a wounded man when he shows up on the doorstep? Not many I hope, or this world is in worse shape than I thought it was."

"You'd be surprised," muttered Sam.

An uncomfortable silence fell. Dean could tell that the priest was trying to hold back his curiosity. And it was understandable. But none of his unspoken questions could be answered truthfully, and Dean hated the idea of lying to the man. So, time to change the subject.

"So, the man that was killed, did you know him?"

The priest nodded. "Jake was a homeless man. He came here sometimes to find shelter when the weather was bad." He looked down at the ground. "There is a small service for him in half an hour. I don't expect many people to come. It's a shame. Jake was a good man. But when he came back from Iraq he wasn't the same." He looked up at Sam. "He was a lot like you, actually."

Dean barely heard his brother's voice when he spoke.

"What do you mean?" Sam whispered.

The priest looked straight at him. "You've seen some bad things in your life, am I right? I know the look, son. It changed you. And you think you'll never be the same. "

Sam sat rigidly still on the sofa, every muscle tense.

"Don't worry, son," said the priest compassionately. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to. But I'm sure there is someone who will listen when you do."

Dean wasn't quite ready when Sam practically launched himself off the sofa. The old piece of furniture creaked ominously.

"I'm gonna look around the church," he said in a shaky voice, and he was out the door before Dean had even opened his mouth.

Dean stood up to go after his brother, but the priest stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Let him be. It's gonna take time for him to work through it all." The old man smiled. "But he's on his way back."

"He is," said Dean softly. "He just doesn't know it yet."

* * *

"It would help if he has someone to talk to. Someone who knows how to deal with this."

Dean nodded quietly, unable to say what he really thought about that. Sam couldn't talk to anyone. He couldn't tell anyone about what he had seen, except for Dean, and Bobby perhaps. There was nobody else who would believe a word of it.

Sam wandered around the empty church.

_You've seen some bad things in your life, am I right?_

Sam snorted. You could say that. The priest could never understand. It wasn't like Iraq or any other war. It was hell in its most literal sense.

_It changed you. _

As much as he hated to admit it, he had changed. More than he should have. Although he kept telling himself that he just needed time to adjust, he knew it wasn't true. He could only hope that he would find his place in the world again.

The church door swung open, and a small group of people walked in. Sam had to fight the urge to turn away and keep out of sight. They were just here for the service. He let his eyes roam around the church again, taking in every detail. There was something… Just like before, he could feel something was out of place. Something had changed from the last time he had been there. And there was more.

All those months with little sleep and no peace of mind had never dulled his hunter's instinct. And right now it was working overtime. Telling him to be careful in a voice that sounded suspiciously like his father.

When the sound of the door slamming shut echoed through the church, Sam flinched and felt for his gun. For some reason, he suddenly had the feeling he was locked in. And whatever it was he felt here, it sure as hell didn't want to play nice.


	4. Some familiar face, some familiar song

**Sorry to keep you waiting, on with the story!**

**As always, enjoy!**

_**Some familiar face, some familiar song **_

_But those times have come and gone _

_Sometimes I feel like my memories are _

_Only there to let me know _

_That being lonely is so damn slow _

_It's like a deep dark fever dream _

The service was simple and brief. No more than five people had bothered to show up. They were all sitting in the front pews, close together. Sam watched them from the shadows of a pillar. They were exactly the kind of people he had expected to come.

The sheriff, in an immaculate uniform with his hat on his knees. He had his head bowed, but his eyes were open. He looked bored more than anything else. Here because he had to be, because it was his duty.

A plump woman was sitting next to him, a frilly handkerchief pressed against her lips. She was the only person who seemed genuinely upset at the poor man's demise. Probably someone who worked at a homeless shelter, Sam deduced. Either that or a church volunteer. She had brought two young boys with her. Twins by the looks of it, no older than twelve. Her sons, enjoying a good Christian upbringing and resenting it, judging from the looks on their faces. And finally, an older man. His hair was dirty, and his clothes looked like they hadn't seen a washing machine for years. Another homeless man, obviously.

And that was it. Nobody else cared. Nobody else gave a crap about Jake. The man had lost his sanity fighting a senseless war, and nobody was interested. Sam knew the crowd at his own funeral would be even smaller. Two men, and perhaps an angel. There would be no service. No words spoken in his memory. Just silence and tears.

Dean nudged his arm. "I've looked all around the church," he whispered. "Everything looks normal."

"We need to talk to the priest as soon as the service is over," whispered Sam. "Find out what he saw." He shivered a little, his eyes fixed on the black curtain behind the altar.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "What's wrong with you, man?"

But before Sam could say anything, a rumbling growl echoed through the sanctuary. All the lights flickered and died, leaving only the light of the candles near the altar. Sam had his gun in his hand before he even had time to think.

"Careful!" Dean hissed in his ear. "Civilians."

Sam nodded silently, his eyes roaming around the church. There was nothing to be seen. The priest had stopped talking, but Sam barely noticed. With his gun in hand, he moved through the shadows of the church, his back to the wall. Slightly panicked voices rose from the front pews. He could feel Dean move towards the frightened people, ready to take charge. But he didn't speak. And Sam knew why. Dean was freaked. He had recognized the sound just like Sam had.

Hellhounds.

Another growl vibrated around the arched ceiling. With the echoes in the hollow space, Sam couldn't tell where it was coming from.

With his gun raised, he retreated back to the front of the church as quickly as he dared. Somehow, six people had managed to create a complete chaos.

The plump women was sobbing loudly. "Father James... what… what was that? Wh…who…" When she saw Sam, she squealed loudly. "Is that a gun? Does he have a gun?"

The sheriff reacted immediately. He wrenched his gun from his belt and pointed it straight at Sam. Sam raised his hands, his gun pointing harmlessly at the ceiling. "Calm down, I'm…."

"Put the gun down!" shouted the sheriff hoarsely. "Now!"

Father James tried to step in, but the sheriff moved closer to Sam. "Put in on the ground."

Sam hesitated. The sheriff looked nervous enough to actually shoot. And while getting shot wasn't really part of the plan, Sam sure as hell wasn't going to give up his gun. Not now.

"Everybody calm down!" Dean's voice echoed around the small church. He was standing a few feet away, his back to the small group of people, gun in hand. "Stay together, we don't know what's in here."

Sam gave the sheriff a sharp look. "We are trying to help you here. Put the gun down and let me do my job."

"Sam," said Father James sternly. "Do you know what's going on?" He obviously did his best to keep his face calm, but his voice trembled more than a little.

"Do you _know_ him, Father?" shrieked the plump woman. She was holding both her sons by the back of their collars. They looked like this was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to them. The homeless man was still sitting in the same place, his face a little dazed and his hands loosely in his lap.

The priest ignored the woman's question, to her obvious displeasure. He kept his eyes on Sam.

Sam nodded without saying anything. The priest held his eyes for a second. Then, he turned to the sheriff. "Steve, put the gun down. I know this man. I trust him."

Sam didn't wait for the sheriff to lower his gun. He turned around to Dean.

"See anything?"

"No, but there isn't an awful lot to see is there?" Dean gripped his gun tightly. "Why did it have to be hellhounds?"

"Better question, why hasn't it ripped us to bits yet?" muttered Sam. "We're sitting ducks in here."

"We need salt," said Dean.

"We need the colt." Sam looked around to the people behind them. "You stay here, keep them safe. I'll go to the car."

"No, Sam! Are you insane?" Dean's voice echoed around the church. "That thing is gonna drag you straight back to hell!"

The voices behind them abruptly fell silent. Sam looked back nervously. The stares made him feel really uncomfortable. Probably even more than the Hellhound.

"If I don't go all these people will die!"

Dean looked like he couldn't care less about that, but he didn't object anymore. Sam pulled a silver flask from his pocket and shoved it in his brother's hands. "This is all the salt I have. I'll be back soon."

With his useless gun still in his hand, he moved way into the darkness.

Dean watched his brother vanish into the shadows, swearing silently.

"Where is he going?" demanded the plump woman in a shrill voice.

"Marge, calm down," said Father James firmly. "Dean, what do you want us to do?"

Dean looked around the church nervously. "Stay calm and stay close together. We can't do anything until Sam gets back."

He couldn't hear Sam's footsteps anymore. The church was eerily silent. Outside the small circle of light created by the candles, everything was dark. Dean inhaled sharply. It was still late afternoon. Sunlight should have been falling in through the windows.

But it wasn't.

This was bad.  
In the dark, the church seemed to much larger. The walls and ceiling were hidden in the shadows. It felt like a cave

Or a tomb.

The sheriff appeared beside him, gun in hand. "Why don't we just shoot it?" he said impatiently. Dean cringed at the volume of his voice.

"Just for your information, this is not some wild animal you can just put down. You shoot this thing, you're just gonna piss it off. "

"If it's not an animal, then what the hell is it?"

"You don't wanna know, trust me." Dean stared into the darkness. Where the hell was Sam?

The sheriff huffed impatiently beside him. "Listen buddy, the only reason you are not in handcuffs is that Father James trusts you for some reason. So if I were you…" He was interrupted by a loud growl from the front part of the church. Paws scraped on the stone floor. For a second, there was just silence.

Then, running footsteps echoed through the church. A loud crash, and a cry of pain.

Before Dean even realized what he was dong, he ran into the darkness.

"Sam!"

There was no answer.


	5. Grease the gears with blood

**Sorry, this took me forever! And when I finally had it done, I couldn't post it. Also, I couldn't reply to any reviews for some reason. Thank you all for taking the time to give me some feedback! I'm hopelessly insecure about my writing, so it means a lot. I hope to have the next chapter up by Monday.**

**Enjoy!**

_Well it looks like it might rain but rain ain't what we need _

_Sunshine and a war machine I'm gettin ready for another stampede _

_**Grease the gears with blood paint it black as night **_

_Ride through the city like a Trojan horse _

_Convinced what you're doin's all right_

Dean swore silently as his foot caught on the edge of a pew. He stumbled and fought to keep his balance. There was no time to lose. He wasn't gonna let them take Sam. Not again.

Images flashed before his eyes. An old graveyard, a hole to eternity. No, it wasn't gonna happen. Not again. No way the bastard was dragging Sam back to hell. His little brother wasn't going to hell again.

Not alone.

The darkness in the church was unnatural. Oppressive. Even the voices behind him seemed to be diminished by it. The friendly little church had turned into a hostile, dark prison. And Sam was in there somewhere.

"Sam!" The moment he heard his call echo around the church, he knew it was a mistake. A low growl answered his call. Dean froze in place. There was nowhere to hide. The thing had his scent. It could smell him from miles away. And it was invisible. It didn't need the darkness to hide. Dean clutched his useless gun out of habit. The odds weren't exactly great on this one.

Soft paws on the ground. Nails tapping on the stone floor. It was close.

Dean closed his eyes and focused on the sound. He could almost imagine what the thing looked like. It's gruesome face low to the ground, prowling. He'd seen them once, when his deal had come due. And once was more than enough.  
The creature slowly moved around him. Then it stopped and growled again. Dean took a step back, he could feel the thing move with him. It was staring at him through the darkness, breathing heavily.

Why the hell didn't it attack? The damn thing was just standing there.

Suddenly there was another noise. Stumbling footsteps on the stone floor, slow and faltering.

Dean would have recognized those footsteps anywhere.

"Sammy?" he said softly, never taking his eyes off the place where he thought the hellhound was.

"Dean?" the voice was softer than he would like, quivering faintly.

It took Dean no more than half a second to reach a decision. It was instinct. Drilled into his head from childhood. _Take Sammy outside as fast as you can…_

He raised his gun. "Run!" he yelled and emptied his gun into the darkness.

A yelp of pain, followed by a howl of anger.

"No!" Strong hands grabbed him and yanked him to the floor , even as the hellhound pounced on him. He felt Sam grab his jacket and drag him between the pews.

"Damn it, Sam! I told you to run!"

"And I said no!" Sam took a deep breath beside him. "If it wanted to kill us it would have done so already. I think it's trying to keep us here."

"How do you figure that?"

"It left me alone until I tried to open the doors. We need to get back to the altar."

Dean could feel the creature moving around in the dark. It was growling at him, pissed as hell. But it didn't attack. It was no more than a few feet away. But it stayed there.

He grabbed Sam's jacket. "Let's go, can you walk?"

"I'm fine."

As to prove it to himself, Sam slowly stood up. "I hope your sense of direction still works, because I have no idea where to go."

Dean looked back to where the altar was supposed to be. There was nothing but darkness. The few candles were extinguished, leaving the entire church an eerie black.

"Well, shit."

"You could say that." Dean felt his brother's hand on his arm. "We need to find Father James and the others."

Dean looked around again, his eyes blinking uselessly in the dark. "If we follow the pews it should take us back to the altar. Let's just hope they are still there."

He slowly moved towards the aisle. The hound was still there, it's claws ticking on the stone floor. But it didn't do anything. It stayed behind in the dark as Dean slowly led his brother back to the altar. Sam had a tight grip on his jacket, shuffling along just behind him. Dean kept his eyes closed, feeling his way through the church. Everything was silent except for their own footsteps. Even the creature behind them made no sound. There was no sign it was even there.

Dean moved forward as fast as he could. The silence was starting to worry him. There were no voices coming out of the darkness. No shuffling footsteps. Not even the sound of breathing. There was no telling what they were gonna find when they got back to the altar.

Suddenly, as if somebody had turned the sound back on, the shrill voice of the plump woman broke the silence. Dean blinked his eyes. The candles burned steadily in front of him, like they had been there the whole time.

"That was weird," whispered Sam behind him.

"And that is the understatement of the century," muttered Dean.

"… are not staying here! Why do you trust those… those _madmen_ Father? They had guns! In a _church!_"

"Marge, I can't explain right now. We've…"

"There they are!" The voice of the sheriff didn't sound quite as steady anymore.

Father James immediately pushed past Marge. "Thank God you boys are…" His eyed widened in horror when he looked at Sam. "Sam! What happened?"

Dean turned around to look at his brother. Sam looked a little dazed, a blackening bruise on his forehead. He had lost his jacket somehow and the left shoulder of his shirt was covered in blood. But before Dean could say anything, Sam turned away from him.

"I'm fine," he said firmly. "It's not as bad as it looks."

"Let me be the judge of that," said Dean sharply.

"I have a first aid kit in the office," said the priest. "Let me…"

"No," Dean looked back into the darkness. "For some reason, that thing wants to keep us here. It's too dangerous to…"

"We can't let him bleed to death," said the sheriff sternly.

"I'm not bleeding to death." Sam was peeling his shirt away from his shoulder. "It grazed me, that's all." His eyes briefly met Dean's.

The unspoken words were more than obvious. _I've had worse._  
Dean grabbed his brother's uninjured arm. "Sit down, let me look at it."

He wasn't really surprised when Sam froze under his hand. But before his little brother could pull away, Dean stepped in front of him and looked him straight in the eyes. "It could have killed you and you know it. I just need to see…"

_I just need to see you're still in one piece. _

Sam relaxed marginally under his hand and nodded faintly. Dean carefully led his brother to the altar, as close to the candles as he possibly could. Behind him, the hound growled in the dark. He swore under his breath. If that thing ever came near Sam again, he would empty another clip into it out of principle alone.

* * *

Sam stiffly sat down on the small step in front of the altar. It really wasn't that bad, surprisingly enough. The scratches on his shoulder burned sharply, but they weren't deep. It was the cause that was disturbing. People rarely survived a hellhound attack. And Sam wasn't really sure why the damn thing hadn't finished him off.

He looked away while Dean gently eased the soaked fabric of his shirt away from the wounds. The plump woman named Marge was sitting on the floor, holding her two boys a little too tightly. Father James was standing beside Dean, wringing his hands. "Is there anything I can do?"

Dean looked up. "You could get me some of that holy water to wash this out. It's not too bad as far as I can see." He turned back to Sam. "You got lucky. That thing could have torn you to pieces."

"Speaking of which," said the sheriff. "Can you finally tell me what 'that thing' is?" He sounded a little annoyed, and Sam couldn't really blame him. The poor man was way out of his element here, trying to hold it all together without a clue what was going on.

Sam shifted uncomfortably under the man's piercing look. "I don't think you'll believe me when I tell you."

"Well, try me." The sheriff stepped a little closer. "You owe us an explanation. Who are you, what are you doing here, and what the hell is going on here? I want every damn detail and you'd better not be lying."

"Such language!" shrieked Marge. "This is a church!"

The sheriff ignored her and kept his eyes on Sam. "Well?"

Dean glared at him. "If you really need to know, it's a hellhound. And it's gonna kill us all if me and Sam don't find a way to stop it."

A short silence followed his words. Then, the sheriff snorted in disbelief.

"A Hellhound? What kind of nonsense is that?"

Father James looked at Dean with a surprisingly calm look on his face. "You are serious about this, aren't you?"

"Deadly," muttered Dean, his attention back on his brother.

The homeless man, who had been sitting silently on the floor through the whole thing, spoke up in an uncertain voice. "Is this what killed Jake?"

Sam looked at him. The man looked a little confused, but strangely enough he didn't seem scared at all.

"I don't think so." Sam took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. "The way Jake died, it wasn't a Hellhounds' MO." He hesitated. "That thing is not here to kill us. It's trying to keep us here."

"How do you know?" asked the sheriff.

"It didn't attack me until I reached the doors." He made a vague gesture to the wound on his shoulder. "This is childsplay compared to what a hellhound can do to a person. It wanted to keep me alive or I wouldn't be sitting here."

Dean briefly met his eyes. "Big question here is, why?"

"There is something else here. A hellhound doesn't just appear out of nowhere, something sent it here. The same thing that killed Jake. And it wants us in here for some reason."

"Sounds reassuring," muttered Dean. "And we have no idea what it is and no idea how to kill it."


	6. So many men have drowned in evil

**It's not exactly Wednesday anymore. Not Friday either on my side of the globe. It's well past midnight, and I have to be at work early tomorrow morning, but I wanted to post this anyway. Didn't want to keep you waiting too long!**

**Thanks for taking the time to read this. Reviews are always more than welcome of course. I'd love to hear from you.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_I've got books that say the good man's golden_

_And more that say the bad will fall,_

_**So many men have drowned in evil**__, and left Lucifer standing tall_

_Don't take the devil's dare, don't gamble when the game ain't fair,_

_Lock and bolt the doors, can't let the devil use you anymore_

Father James sat down heavily beside Sam. "So this is your war," he whispered. "You fight things from hell?"

"Amongst others," said Dean. "Trust me, padre, you don't want to know what's out there." As gently as he could, he started cleaning out the long gashes on his brother's shoulder with holy water. It had to hurt like hell, but Sam barely reacted.

"Why do you believe this crap, Father?" The sheriff was pacing the circle of light, his gun in his hand.

"The bible speaks of hell," said Father James. "I have no reason to question that it exists." He looked at Sam and Dean again. "It also speaks of Angels. Warriors of God."

Dean snorted. "Sorry, padre. We're not angels. I do know a few. Took one to a whorehouse once."

Marge made an outraged noise and tried to cover her sons' ears.

The sheriff stared at Dean like he had lost his mind completely. "You did what? Now I know you're crazy."

Sam cleared his throat. "Speaking of Cas, we should call him. Maybe he can help."

"Wouldn't hurt," said Dean. "Question is how. Heaven is a little out of cell phone range." He looks at the priest. "Mind if I borrow the altar cloth?"

Father James made a vague gesture with his hand. "Help yourself."

"Cas? Who the hell is that?" The sheriff clearly wasn't a patient man, but Dean wasn't in the mood to play twenty questions. He tunred back to Sam, barely hearing the huff of annoyance behind him.

With practiced ease, he tore a long strip from the altar cloth. Sam's shoulder was still bleeding heavily. He surely had to be feeling the blood loss by now.

"You hanging in there, Sammy?"

"Been better, been worse," muttered Sam. "We could just pray for Cas, see what happens."

"He still can't find us, remember? Angelic sigils and all that."

"He can't find you," corrected Sam. "I'm sigil-free."

Dean grinned at him. "In that case, start praying. In the mean time I'll just make sure you don't bleed to death, all right?"

His words seemed to shake the priest up a little bit. "You need to drink, Sam. Replace some of those fluids." He stood up. "I'll get you some holy water. It's either that or missal wine I'm afraid."

Dean wrapped the torn up altar cloth tightly around Sam's shoulder. "You are getting the holiest field bandage ever, Sam."

"Probably the cleanest one as well," muttered Sam.

"You sure? Who knows what kind of kinky stuff Father James is up to in his spare time."

The twin boys giggled behind him.

"Now I've had enough!" Marge slapped her hand on the stone floor. "There are children here! They don't need to hear this. Father James, why do you let him say these things?"

"Well, I'm flattered that he thinks I'm fit enough for things like that." The priest handed Sam a cup of water and winked at Dean. "There is that pesky vow of celibacy though."

"Father, how dare you!" Marge was barely able to get the words out. It sounded like she was choking on something. One of the boys took advantage of the situation. He twisted away from his mother's grasp and ran towards Dean. "My mother says you are a heathen," he stated happily.

Dean grinned at him. "I'm a realist. That's not quite the same thing."

The sheriff cleared his throat. "Heathen or madman, I don't care at this point. Do you have any idea how to get rid of that _thing?"_

"The Hellhound isn't really the core problem here," said Dean. "There is something controlling it, and we need to figure out what if we want to get rid of it." He turned to Father James. "Padre, I need to know exactly what you saw the night Jake died."

The priest looked away. "I was afraid you'd ask that. The truth is, I'm not really sure. I don't remember much." He took a deep breath. "Jake came running into the church, he said something was after him. I… wasn't really sure if I could believe him, you know? Jake's never been the same after he came back from war. He'd get these strange panic attacks. Delusions, paranoia, you name it. But he seemed lucid enough."

The priest shook his head. "He begged me to lock the doors, but I wasn't quick enough. I remember the doors slamming open and a white flash. I must have hit my head or something, because the next thing I remember is Jake lying next to me with blood coming out of his ears."

"And that's it?" said Dean. "There anything else you noticed? A smell, sound, anything?"

The priest shook his head. "Not that I can recall. But it's all pretty vague."

"You didn't smell any sulfur?"

"Not that I remember."

"Doesn't rule out Demons," muttered Dean. "At least we have plenty of holy water here."

"Demons?" The sheriff shook his head. "This is getting crazier by the minute."

"They're just as real as that Hellhound over there. I hope you know your exorcisms, Padre."

The priest shook his head. " Not by heart unfortunately. I could look something up, but all my books are in my office."

"Don't worry, Sam here knows about half a dozen of them by heart. Right Sammy?"

There was no answer. Sam was slumped against the altar, his eyes closed.

* * *

Sam was drifting. It was wrong and he knew it, but he couldn't help himself. In the background he could hear the twin boys bickering about something, the shrill sound of their mother's voice cutting though the darkness.

Dean was quietly discussing something with Father James and the sheriff. It was important. He should be awake, should be listening. He should be _doing_ something instead of sitting here and falling asleep. He forced his eyes open. He should be paying attention. But all sounds were muffled. Words blended together into a lazy drone of noise.

The homeless man was sitting on the stone step beside Sam. He was vacantly staring ahead, oblivious to what was going on. Or, maybe not. His head turned towards Sam.

"Sleep," he said softly. The words sounded vague and distant. "Don't fight him, Sam."

_Fight who?_  
Sam couldn't get the words out, but the homeless man seemed to hear them anyway.

"He who judges you."

The words were crystal clear, even though the man's lips hadn't moved. Or maybe they had, but Sam wasn't really seeing things all that clearly anymore.

Yeah, maybe he should sleep. Just for a minute. Sam closed his eyes and leaned against the altar.

Something was wrong. Something was really wrong, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to care.

As he drifted away a voice whispered in his ear.

"I've been waiting."

The church was empty. Sam blinked his eyes in confusion. He was sitting in one of the front pews, his hands folded like he had been praying. The candles on the altar were burning steadily. Soft sunlight was flowing in through the windows. And everyone was gone.

Sam wanted to call out for his brother. He wanted to look around, stand up, run. But somehow, he couldn't find the strength to move. His muscles refused to do as he told them to. He just sat there, staring at the altar and the painting behind it. The final judgment. There were hundreds of paintings all over the world devoted to that very subject. But this one was a little different.

Normally, a painting like this portrayed Jesus in the center with hell to his left and heaven to his right. At his feet were the people he was judging, either being dragged down to hell or guided to heaven.

But this one was different. The figure of Jesus was visible at the top of the painting, but the scene was dominated by an enormous archangel. With his sword in hand, he looked down at the souls kneeling at his feet. To his right was the gate to heaven. To his left was hell, painted in gruesome detail. Deformed bodies being consumed by flames, screaming and writing in pain. Sam shivered. He could almost hear them. The screams of agony rang like an echo in his head. Like a memory. For a moment, the painting took him back down. Down there, to the place he still went in his worst nightmares. He could almost feel Lucifer's presence in his head again. Whispering, waiting. Torturing. Always there.

Sam shook his head faintly. _Focus! You're out. Safe. It's over._

"Don't count on it," whispered a hollow voice.

Sam looked up. The archangel was staring at him, his eyed white. "I have been waiting," he said.

"Who are you?" Sam tried to sound confident, but somehow the words didn't come out right. He sounded meek, fearful almost.

"I am the archangel Michael," said the angel.

"No you're not." Once again, his voice was twisted into something pitiful, but the words were the same. The angel's eyes flashed.

"Do not question me! Kneel before me like all sinners would."

Sam didn't exactly kneel, but he couldn't help bowing his head. Something was trying to pull his strings, and nearly succeeding. But not quite.

The angel hissed in annoyance. "Don't fight me if you know what's good for you."

Sam raised his head, fighting the pressure trying to keep it down. "And why the hell not?"

"Because I am here to judge you, Sam Winchester. You stand before me in your final hour. Your soul will be weighed and if it is flawed it will be cast into the flaming darkness of hell."

"You make a nice poet, but I have to disappoint you. You are no archangel, and this is not my final hour."

The angel's eyes flashed white.

"Then I will make it your final hour."

* * *

**My apologies… I think I'll go hide under the covers now. **


	7. You can't let him use you anymore

**I'm late. Again. What else is new?**

**I hope you will forgive me if I missed some errors in this, I'm not really thinking clearly at the moment. Maybe you heard about the shooting in a mall in Holland? Well, that is less than a kilometer from my house. Two of my cousins work in the store where the shooter committed suicide. Thankfully they are all in one piece, but the whole thing has left me quite upset. **

** It's 1.45 in the morning as I am typing this, and I know I won't be able to sleep. The fact that something so horribe can happen so close to home is honestly terrifying. As far as I know now, seven people died and over a dozen were injured. My thoughts go out to them and their families.**

**Despite all this, I am still posting this chapter today. You have waited long enough and frankly, I could use a little distraction. **

**Despite all this, enjoy!**

_You got to listen all you mugs and revers, if you do any wrong_

_You make it right_

_You can't be a make-believer, 'cause soon you're gonna pay the price,_

_Lying, hate and pain, all part of the devil game,_

_Got his foot inside the door, but __**you can't let him use you anymore**_

"Sammy?"

Sam didn't respond. His breathing was slow and deep. Dean grabbed his arm and shook him lightly. Sam didn't stir. He didn't even twitch.

"He needs a hospital," said the Sheriff somewhere behind him. "He lost too much blood."

"No." Dean checked the bandage around Sam's shoulder. "It's not bleeding anymore. This is something else."

"How the hell do you know?"

Dean gave the man an annoyed look. "Because I know my brother. He'll keep going until he drops dead."

He turned back to Sam. "Come on, little brother. What is messing with you this time?"

* * *

"What're you gonna do? Glare at me?" Sam knew defiance probably wasn't his best option right now, but he couldn't help himself. He smiled faintly. _Learned from the best, I suppose._

"You cannot even begin to understand what I can do," said the angel. "I can look into your heart, I can show you your greatest fears."

"Like what, the Stay Puff marshmallow man?"

The angel's eyes flashed in anger. A low growl echoed through the church. Sam looked up in alarm.

The soft sound of claws on the stone floor approached through the isle.

The angel laughed softly. "I know your fears. Like I know your sins. I felt you. It woke me after all those years." The angel tilted his head. "It is my duty to take you before God and let your soul be judged."

Sam stood up from the pew, fighting the pressure that was trying to keep him down. "Then get on with it already!" he shouted in defiance. "Enough of your empty threats and mind games. If you want to kill me, just do it."

The angel smiled faintly. "No," it said quietly. "Now that I have you here, I will take my time. You will pay for the things you have done."

"I thought you wanted to take me before God." Fighting the pressure trying to keep him in place, he started walking towards the altar. "Since when is it up to an angel to make judgment?"

The angel looked down on him. "When you first came here, I could feel you were not alone. I felt _him_ inside your heart. You carried him with you. It's his presence that woke me." The white eyes flashed in fury. "You walked the earth with the devil inside you. And for that you will pay."

Sam took a shaky breath, feeling the blazing eyes looking right through him. Once again it all came down to this.

To Lucifer, to Sam.

The pressure around him grew suddenly, pinning him in place. But the angel couldn't keep him from speaking.

"If you wanted to kill the devil, you're a little late. I hate to break it to you, but the apocalypse came and went and you slept through it all."

A warning growl echoed through the church. Claws scraped on the stone floor.

Sam kept his eyes fixed on the angel's face. He was quite sure this was a dream. That meant that the Hellhound wasn't real. That anything it would do to him wasn't real. And if it wasn't a dream… well, he'd cross that bridge when he got to it.

"You are not Michael, because I dragged him down to hell to spend eternity playing dodge with Lucifer. I don't know what you are, but when I get out of here I'm gonna hunt you down and burn you alive. Do you understand me?"

The angel didn't speak, but his eyes flashed with fury. Without warning, the Hellhound leapt onto Sam's back and sunk its teeth into his neck.

* * *

A low growl vibrated through the darkness. Dean looked up nervously. He had never felt this vulnerable before. There wasn't enough salt to make a circle. The only weapon he had was his gun and that wasn't gonna kill a Hellhound. And above all, Sam was still out and he was surrounded by a bunch of annoying civilians.

"Well, this sucks," he muttered to himself.

Claws scraped over the stone floor, suddenly alarmingly close.

"Padre, I need all the holy water I can get," Dean said tensely. "Make sure everyone here has some. If anything moves, anything at all, soak it."

"You are gonna fight that thing with _water?" _The sheriff shook his head in disbelief. "I've had enough. When I see this thing, I'm gonna put a bullet in its brain and that is it."

Dean narrowed his eyes in annoyance. "You can try, if you want to get chewed to ribbons. I just emptied an entire clip into the damn thing and it's still walking around. And besides that, you won't see it."

"What do you mean I won't see it?"

"Because you _can't _see it. Not unless your time's up and it's coming for your soul."

"You are insane!" shrieked Marge. "These things aren't _real_."

"Lady, I see things that you think aren't real every damn day of my life and trust me, they could all kill you. So take the holy water and do as I tell you, okay?"

Dean ignored her outraged look and clutched the little flask of salt Sam had given him tightly in his hand. It wasn't near enough to do them any good. He swore under his breath.

"Come on Sam, I could use your help right now."

Sam moved faintly under his hand. Dean immediately turned his attention back to his brother. "That's it, Sammy. Rise and shine."

Sam muttered something under his breath, his fingers twitching a little. Dean grabbed his shoulder and shook him a little. "Come on, Sam! Snap out of it."

Without warning, Sam bolted upright, nearly hitting his brother in the face. He was panting harshly, struggling against an unseen enemy.

"Sam!" Dean grabbed his arm and ducked a punch to the face. "Relax dude, it's me."

"Dean?" Sam drew a shaky breath. He leaned forward and rested his head in his hands.

"Sam, what the hell?" said Dean sharply. "I turn my back for two seconds and you just zone out on me. What is going on here?"

"It wanted to tell me something," muttered Sam. Without elaborating any further he pushed himself up, leaning against the altar to keep his balance.

Father James put a hand on his arm. "Are you alright, son?"

Sam nodded distractedly. He was staring up at the wall behind the altar. Or at the black curtain covering it to be exact. "Father, why did you cover the painting?"

Dean shook his head. "Sam, there's a Hellhound running loose in here, do you really think this is the time to discuss art?"

Sam ignored him, keeping his eyes on the priest. "Please, Father. It's important."

Father James looked away from him. "It got… damaged… the night Jake died. I don't have the money to have it restored."

"Did you ever see anything unusual about it? Anything out of the ordinary?"

Dean's eyes flicked to his brother's face. He knew that tone. This was exactly the way Sam spoke to nearly every witness he interviewed. It was the way he spoke when he knew they were lying.

"Well… it's ugly, but that probably isn't what you mean."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "You need to tell me the truth, Father. Did you ever see it move?"

Dean did his best to ignore Marge's disbelieving huff behind him. The Sheriff wasn't even listening. He was pacing the edge of the circle with his gun in his hand.

The priest hesitated. "I… ah… sometimes. When I turn the lights off. But it's just… my imagination. Right?"

Sam walked around the altar. "We'll see about that."

He grabbed the black curtain and pulled it away. A strong gust of wind roared through the church, followed by the bark of the Hellhound.

**I hope this turned out okay, despite the fact that my head isn't really in it right now. I hope to have the next chapter up soon, but no promises unfortunately.**


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